


Shatter

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9328079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: Shirabu huffed and whirled around, found Kawanishi standing a meter away, carefully taping his fingers. “Taichi, where’s Tsutomu?”The middle blocker glanced up and shrugged. “I dunno. Akakura said he wasn’t in class today.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by an anon at my tumblr, [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/)!  
> 22\. "End of the world" kiss

Shirabu surveyed the court, eyes critical. The net was already set up, the ball carts were out, and the conditioning equipment and stations had already been arranged, courtesy of him and Kawanishi. The first years milled around, babbling excitedly, ready for another intense practice. People hung out overhead on the balconies and in the seats, ready to watch their practice - he could only hope the boys wouldn’t get distracted today. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for it. Not after practice the day before. 

He glanced at the back row of the closest side of the court. The blood was gone, they’d cleaned it within minutes of Goshiki going down. But for some reason he still expect to look over and see Goshiki on his hands and knees, blood gushing from his nose, pained tears squeezing out.  _ Where is he? _ He hadn’t heard that irritatingly familiar and chipper voice yet, and Goshiki was always the first to appear, often even beating Shirabu. 

It was a race they had, between captain and ace, and he wasn’t sure when it had begun. When he had started to enjoy it. When Goshiki being late had started to make him feel weird, so accustomed to seeing that sunny smile waiting on him in the club room. He always showed up within five minutes of school letting out. Except now it was just a few minutes until practice, and yet he was nowhere to be seen. 

Shirabu huffed and whirled around, found Kawanishi standing a meter away, carefully taping his fingers. “Taichi, where’s Tsutomu?” 

The middle blocker glanced up and shrugged. “I dunno. Akakura said he wasn’t in class today.” 

Shirabu glanced at the second year libero who stood by the benches, chatting with first years as he fiddled with his headband. “No texts?” 

Kawanishi shook his head. Shirabu scowled and crossed his arms. Kawanishi sighed as he finished wrapping his fingers up and he tossed the tape to one of the first year middle blockers. “His parents picked him up last night, so they probably took him to the doctor and told him to rest. He did bleed a lot, and he could have a concussion.” 

“Fine.” 

Kawanishi stared at him for a long moment before he raised an eyebrow. “You’re snippy today.” Shirabu scowled at his teammate, stomach bubbling and twisting, but he didn’t say anything, just held Kawanishi’s eyes until his teammate sighed. “You get like this whenever Tsutomu is late without having mentioned something ahead of time. If you’ve got a thing for him just tell him.” 

Heat flooded Shirabu’s cheeks as all thought flooded out, everything narrowed down to those words.  _ If you’ve got a thing for him. _ Shirabu stomped his foot and sneered. “I  _ don’t _ have a  _ ‘thing’ _ for that lil’ bowl cut, got it?” 

Kawanishi blinked at him and then shrugged. “Whatever. Ready to start practice?” 

Shirabu gaped at him for a moment, and then he snapped his mouth shut and whirled around to face the court. “Let’s go,” he grumbled and jogged out. 

The rest of the team joined him and they started up a jog around the gym. Chatter broke out within the first lap, talk of projects and assignments, of teams they’d be facing and moves they’d seen from the college games that had aired the night before. But one voice was missing, and it felt painfully quiet without those familiar tones in his ears as he worked his way around the gym until the entire team was covered in sweat. 

They stretched out their bodies and launched themselves into conditioning. It wasn’t long before they filled the gym with the sound of thumping feet as they did wall taps, squatting down and exploding up, trying to extend their jump height more and more. They moved on from those to the ladders, agility training, and worked their way through a dozen drills on two sets, three reps each, until everyone was breathing harder, but they pushed on, and did side-to-side slides from one cone to another, all the way up and down the court.

By the third time up the court Shirabu’s thighs were on fire, and his lungs ached, begging for oxygen. He couldn’t hear his team cheering him on - they were a dim buzz in the back of his mind. His heart throbbed in his ears, his ragged breaths snatched his attention away. He tapped the line on the edge of the court and worked his way back down, bringing his feet together and sliding along. He staggered to a stop at the end and slowly rose from the crouch, legs almost numb from the exertion. 

Someone nudged him over to the benches, where his other teammates stood drinking and regaining their breath, and he moved. He could barely hear anything beside the deafening rush of blood and throb of his heart, and yet it still felt too quiet. Silent without Goshiki’s loud voice and laughter breaking through the gym. 

Shirabu snatched his water bottle up and downed half of it in one go, eyes closed tight. Shoes squeaked on the floor. A hand clapped his back. “Don’t pass out, Kenjirou.” 

He opened his eyes and glared at Kawanishi, who only nodded at him before he grabbed his own water bottle. Neither of them said any more. He just drank more and caught his breath before the team launched themselves into the real part of practice, straight into sets and spikes. The position and motions were easy to fall into - a ball was bumped into the air, he would move into place, set the ball to whoever needed the ball.

But, despite the squeak of shoes, the thud of bodies as they returned to earth, the slap of balls against hands and the ground, and the cries of his teammates, it was still too quiet. There was no excited shriek of “Kenji!”, a call for a super straight spike. No exclamations of joy at every successful hit, which was typically followed with “Tsutomu, shut up and get back in line!” No, it was too quiet. And Shirabu didn't like that he  _ detested _ it.

* * *

 

Shirabu paced along the edge of the court, nerves flickering in his body. Goshiki had been hit  _ days _ ago - admittedly, he'd only missed one practice with the weekend and then Monday off for a holiday, but he hadn't been in his dorm room either. And he didn't know so because of Goshiki’s roommate, Akakura - technically. Akakura could've and would've sent a text to the team when Goshiki returned. Except he hadn't, and Shirabu had found himself in front of their dorm room every day, knocking and waiting impatiently, only for disappointment. 

It was unusual to go a single day without that incessant chatter, absolutely unthinkable to go  _ four _ . And perhaps that was what had brought about the revelation. Or maybe it had come about when Akakura had let him into the room on Saturday with a smile and promise of tea, and Shirabu had curled up in the plush comfort of Goshiki's beanbag chair, tucked into a cozy niche in their room. It had been all too easy to imagine his underclassman crunched up into that space, knees probably to his ears as he thumbed his way through a  _ Jump  _ magazine, a terrible habit Tendou had gotten him into. 

No matter where or when though, the realization had snuck in the longer he went without a chipper, emoticon-filled message, or a dumb picture of a cute dog he’d seen, or  _ anything _ . He did in fact  _ have a thing _ for Goshiki. As baffling as the boy himself, but a  _ thing _ nevertheless. Something that had made Kawanishi sigh in relief when Shirabu had mumbled it to the ceiling of their dorm. He'd thrown a wad of socks at his friend, but that hadn't meant much. Because Goshiki had still been absent from the picture. 

And he still was. 

Ten minutes after school, and yet he hadn't appeared in the club room, and he wasn't among the few already down in the gym. Shirabu scowled and crossed his arms tight across his chest.  _ That asshole probably transferred without telling me. Jackass. Had to go catch the feelings for the dumb, oblivious bowl cut, didn't you? _

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and glanced to the gym entrance. His heart stuttered and he stopped breathing altogether. Goshiki stood there, dressed warm in a thick jacket and a huge scarf that hid his face, as well as a huge hat.  _ Not _ practice gear. The door slammed shut behind him and Shirabu jogged over, thoughts spinning through his head.  _ Ask him how he is. If he’s clear to play. Don’t yell at him, he might have a concussion. Don’t be an asshole. _

Goshiki had grown even taller since the year previous, but Shirabu found that he didn’t care so much for once that he had to crane his neck to look at the ace. “How are you? Feeling better? Cleared for practice? Are you heading to the club room after this?” 

Goshiki’s eyes flickered. Slowly the ace reached up and tugged his scarf down. He had a medical mask covering his face -  _ sick? _ “Kenjirou,” he said, voice oddly soft, “I’m sorry, but I can’t play volleyball anymore.” 

Everything ground to a halt. His veins felt frozen, blood sluggish and cold inside. No beat of his heart. He stared at Goshiki, wide-eyed, thoughts short-circuited. The pieces slowly fell into place, the words came together. Everything lurched back into action: heart pounding through his skull; breathing, too loud, grating against his ears; the muted chatter of the team. 

“Kenjirou?” 

Shirabu’s hand shot out, curled around Goshiki’s wrist. He tugged the teen to the door and back outside. The cold ripped into Shirabu, biting into his exposed calves and arms, into his neck and face, but he pulled the door shut and pushed Goshiki back a step so he could see him. Shock. Confusion. _Anger._ _“What?”_ he managed, and somehow it came out quietly, rather than the shriek that bubbled to come out. 

Goshiki’s eyes fell, eyebrows scrunching together. His fingers came together, anxiously twisting together. His foot tapped at the ground. “I… can’t play. I’m sick.” 

“Sick,” Shirabu repeated dumbly. Goshiki nodded. His head rose, and Shirabu jolted back. Tears filled his junior’s eyes, heartbreak and uncertainty pouring out. “My nose started bleeding again when I got home and wouldn’t stop, so… we went to the hospital. They did blood work, ‘n my white blood cells are r-really low, so they’re worried it’s c-can-cancer.” 

Shirabu blinked. Nodded. Stared at Goshiki, blank as his brain frantically tried to restart, to refind words. Goshiki just wiped his eyes and continued, voice shaking. “They want me to take a break from playing until they finish running tests ‘n stuff, and then they’ll figure out if I can keep playing, but…” 

A hiccup shook his shoulders, and Goshiki doubled over. Shirabu was by his side in an instant, arms wrapped tight around the second year as quiet sobs rocked him. His face found Shirabu’s neck, his gloved fingers grabbed desperately at Shirabu’s shirt. He didn’t say a word. Just stared at the wall beyond, hollow.  _ His world just ended. _ Even if it wasn’t cancer, it was  _ something _ , and that meant there would be tests. He’d be benched. Wouldn’t be able to play. All that hard work, ruined in an instant.  _ I might never get to set to him again. _ Or even practice, let alone play on the same court if the diagnosis was bad, or if his parents wanted him to stop playing. 

“Fuck…” he whispered. 

Goshiki sniffled in his ear, squeezed his shirt tight before he leaned back, eyes red-rimmed, medical mask damp. “Kenjirou,” he whispered, “I just… I really want to tell you-” 

“If you’re going to tell me you like me  _ now _ of all fucking times,  _ I will end you. _ ” 

Those gray eyes scrunched up. He didn’t need to see Goshiki’s mouth to know that he was smiling, even if it was weak. And that made everything ache. Shirabu’s hands rose, somehow steady, and he curled them into the lapels of Goshiki’s jacket. He barely had to tug, just rose onto his toes and met that stupid bowl cut halfway. 

It was hard to find his lips beneath the mask, but they managed, and Shirabu didn’t give a damn. He just let his eyes fall shut as he clung tighter to Goshiki’s form and pressed closer, tried to breathe him in, memorize him. The way those long fingers felt as they tangled into his face. The warmth of the mask as Goshiki’s breaths pulled out. The smell that lingered beneath the antiseptic and hospital smells, warm and sweet and like home. His eyes burned, but Shirabu swallowed the tears down as he kissed Goshiki once, twice, a dozen times, desperate. 

But all too soon he dropped back, though his hands remained on Goshiki. Moved up and found their way beneath that thick scarf. His skin was warm, and he could feel the soft thump of Goshiki’s heartbeat against his fingers. 

Shirabu stepped back. Cleared his throat. “You should go inform the coach. Do you want to tell the team?” Goshiki nodded, sniffed, wiped at his eyes once more. “Go on in.” 

“Okay.” 

Goshiki tugged the door open and stepped into the warmth of the gym once more. Shirabu didn’t move. Just watched that door clang shut and gave it another second before he slumped down, shivers finally overtaking him. He was freezing, but he could barely feel it. Couldn’t really see. Goshiki’s words echoed in his head, relentless, unforgiving. A tear slipped out and Shirabu ground his palms into his eyes. Sucked down deep breaths. Rose and re-entered the gym, head held high and shoulders squared, as though he wasn’t about to shatter into a million pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> First of what will be many shiragoshi fics... soon... Please leave a comment if you liked this - that encourages more works.


End file.
